Call

Words are few and far between,

dangling from the tip of my tongue,
disposed aside with a heavy exhale.

I'm short on luck but knee deep in potential, 

with ten digits burning a hole in my pocket,
probing, prodding, prying.

I can hear the microscopic rustling 

of men on my left shoulder,

their histories muttering insistently;

"What are you waiting for?"

Call.